shoutout to lexapro?

I don’t know what switched. Before, I wanted to shrink inside of myself. Hide away from what I looked like, sounded like, acted like. You know, bury my personality in something better. I wanted to alter myself and shrink into this beautiful, confident, unrealistic version of a person who everybody adored.

I seriously used to avoid pictures. I hated seeing myself on the screen or in the frame, sat beside beauty and allowing me to compare myself to everything surrounding my blemished composition. I hid away in my bedroom, in my books, in my television shows because I was ashamed of how I looked. It was a fucked up way of living and thinking, and now that I look back on it, I just want to give the old-me a hug (or a slap across the face, I still can’t decide which).

I don’t know what changed but I can’t help but chalk it up to my anti-depressants and anxiety medication. Now, I’m confident. There’s no other way to put it. I’m not worried about boys liking me, I don’t think my personality is too loud or “too much” and I don’t think I’m ugly or fat by any means. Maybe it’s my anti-depressants or maybe I’m just growing up and finally allowing myself to be comfortable and actually like who I am as a person. I simply just don’t care about those things anymore, and it’s freeing.

I still wake up ashamed of some things. Like today I wanted to wake up early to work out, but I slept in. I wanted to eat healthy but I ate about ten chicken wings for lunch. I don’t think things like that ever go away but I also don’t see anything wrong with wanting to improve yourself little by little everyday, especially when it comes to your health. I give myself permission to beat myself up over stuff like that. As long as I’m still happy.

I’m happy to be back, writing on my blog. My ex-boyfriend caused me to stop writing because he found this after I told him not to go looking for it. I know that’s my fault. Why put this on the internet if you don’t want the people closest to you to see it? Well, I feel like I have a solid community here. And I don’t want to lose that…..

Each paragraph is a series of pointless rambles, but I’m sincerely doing what makes me happy. I just want to get this all down in writing incase my old self ever creeps back into the beautiful, confident, and exciting picture.



Love Isn’t the Boy

Sometimes I’m angry at my mother for making me fall in love with books at such a young age. Really. I was reading fictional stories before I knew how to read. I spent all of my weekends in the library. I spent my teenage years online, writing, reading, consuming things that don’t exist.

I thought love was supposed to be like it is in the books. Always have, and dreadfully, probably always will. I spent all 25 years of my life believing in feelings that aren’t real. Love isn’t the beautiful boy running into you at the book store, and then again on the street. There’s no electric shocks, there’s no breathless moments. Love isn’t the boy unable to keep his eyes off you or the secret spot by the lake. There’s no big fight, there’s no big chase scene.

Love is a bar on a Wednesday, Friday and Saturday night, being too drunk to stand and hoping he’ll still take you home, even if he’s stone cold sober, and feeling like an idiot when he doesn’t. Love is an unanswered text, a game of who is going to make the first move. It’s untrustworthy. Looking through phones, checking locations, rummaging through social medias. Love is walking home alone from work, it’s saying “forget this” when things go wrong. It’s questioning whether or not it’s even worth it. And it never is.


What’s a 6 Month Break, Anyway?

It’s come to my attention that I may have worried some people from my last post, so it was probably very irresponsible of me to take a 6 month break from constantly whining about my life on this website. I guess I should say sorry to the people who care but honestly, how many times can I do that? It’s been 6 months, I promise things are different now.

Including me. Maybe. I like to think so. Since August a lot has happened. For staters, my brother got married, which was a blast and even allowed me to do some thinking about what, and more importantly, who I wanted in my life. Phew. A breath of fresh air. At the end of August, the company where I’ve been completing an internship for the past 8 months finally hired me full time, which was a huge weight off my shoulders. I thought I was going to have to move out of D.C., go back to parents house in New York and worst of all be jobless again. The fact that that didn’t end up being the case makes me feel really lucky.IMG_2169.JPG

In September, I got to visit my nephews in Florida and spend time getting closer to some of the people I met here in D.C. as well as old college friends who live in Baltimore. It was steady and truth be told, I got bored. So, in October, I went a little out of my comfort zone.

I adopted a 2-month-old kitten and named him Beans. It was a very bold thing of me to do considering I could barely keep a Beta fish alive. But since adopting him I’ve felt this sense of responsibility that I like, especially because for once I think I’m doing it right. He’s a happy boy and he’s the best thing that’s happened to me in 2018, no doubt.

Screen Shot 2019-03-05 at 6.46.48 PM.pngNovember is a blur. But I remember being busy visiting my cousins in Baltimore and I remember my roommate and I in awe over how many plans we had that month. We were swamped, apparently. But I’m getting my months all mixed up. I went to therapy and hated it. I got prescribed Lexapro and love it.

As of now, as I look back, Christmas was great, but lonely because all of my cousins were with their significant others this year. I got into a new, underwhelming relationship and I completed my New Years resolution of creating an Instagram dedicated to my thumbs. Check it out. They’re pretty weird.


Things are fine. Work is hard. Friends are good. Family is great. I’m reading a lot. Everything is okay. One of my New Year’s resolutions was also to update this blog more (of course, as a writer, when is your New Year’s resolution NOT to write more) so I’m happy to be here and back and well. Please drop a comment below to say hi! I’ve missed this.

xox, Kait


the key is to not let it get messy in the first place

I’m a fraud, but no matter.

The two extremes live inside of me: the desperate need to be isolated and weary, and the aching urgency to be productive and extraverted. My mother says it’s not a bad thing. You know, Kait, you can be a lazy bum and hide away in your room for awhile, letting it get cluttered and dirty, but then something in you clicks and finally you’re out and about and you clean it up. You can never let it stay messy for long. And maybe it is a good thing that I’m neither a perfectionist nor a “lazy bum” twenty-four-seven. Maybe that’s how humans are supposed to be. But I called them extremes for a reason, and bouncing back and forth between the two is dreadfully exhausting.

As an amateur writer, it’s no surprise that I took what my mom said as a metaphor for my life. It gets messy, but yes, I do always clean it up. However, it’s what she always said afterwards that solidifies the theory that I’m doing it all wrong. But, if you just put your clothes away when you were done with them instead of throwing them on the floor, you wouldn’t have this problem in the first place.


Apology to myself

I wanted to write a new post about all of the negative thoughts/things currently plaguing my life. I wanted to complain. Let it all out and trick myself into solving all my problems with the simple click of a “Publish…” button because “now that it’s out there, I’m fine.” But I’m not going to do that.

Instead, I just want to say hi. And that I’m sorry I’ve been MIA since May after making a post about wanting to create more and more content everyday and then not even lifting a finger to take a picture or type a simple blog post. This apology isn’t even to you guys, honestly, because quite frankly I don’t think anybody really pays that much attention or cares that much about my content (or lack thereof). But I want to apologize to myself. For continuously letting me down. In almost every aspect of my life.


retrospective me

in 2nd grade somebody pulled my hair and I had to apologize for disrupting the class with my scream. I didn’t think anything of this until one day my heart almost exploded for somebody and I was left apologizing for the mess I made. I think that was in a 11th grade, but who wants to keep track of apologies? in 6th grade a boy I liked showed up at my front door holding a cup of my favorite ice cream and I could’ve invited him in but instead I slammed the door in his face and felt so overwhelmed with kindness that I threw a perfectly good chocolate fudge sundae into the trash can. when he called me later that I night I told him it was delicious and not to tell anybody that we talk on the phone because it felt too old for me. this boy was in my geometry class some years later and never bothered to look at me so I never bothered to look at him. all the while, I was becoming someone’s secret. at the time, some people thought being seen with me wasn’t worth the trouble. I didn’t think anything of this until lyrics were written into a notebook about goodbyes and yet, nothing was done to mend my frustration. my train ride of emotions came to a sudden halt when I was 18 and I took it out on people and illegal substances at 99lbs with no map. I was last in the group to lose my virginity to a friend. I didn’t think anything of this until I went to college and I was surrounded by people who claimed their first times to be like fireworks. ‘fireworks?’ I thought, ‘and where are those people now?’ the person you used to cry over and lit a fire inside of you once upon a time… you guys don’t talk anymore, do you? the fire is bound to go out someday. and then you are going to pass it on to someone else and claim ‘you are the most I’ve ever loved anyone’ but your high school self would’ve slapped you in the face because what about the fireworks? at 24 years old, I have managed to dodge any resemblance to this. maybe I’m missing out but maybe passing on love after love just sounds exhausting to me. my makeup is already smudged and my hair is already tangled and throughout all these years I still don’t think I feel things properly. I didn’t think anything of this until I was left keeping track of apologies.

xox, Kait


The Dreaded Art of Dating

As a 24 year old female, I am saddened to say that dating never turned out the way I thought it would. Surprise, surprise! It’s not a groundbreaking revelation. In fact, I would hardly consider it a revelation. More like a fact I knew was always there, but unwilling to accept. An ever-present shadow I chose to ignore. A voice in the back of my head I silenced.

However, I take full responsibility. Before I could read, I would take out books from my rickety bookshelf and read aloud to my stuffed animals, making up the words and creating happy endings the only way I knew how; romantically. In Goodnight Moon, the little bunny is so in love with the moon that he ends up marrying it. In The Hungry Caterpillar, the caterpillar is so in love with food, that he ends up becoming it, filling himself to the brim and consuming his love before anybody else can. These ideas sprouted from the movies I was watching as a child and I can say with utter disappointment that I was heavily exposed to the Disney Princess genre; and therefore, I was doomed from the start.

Once I was able to read, the endings became more diverse, but I chose to delve into the idyllic works of Stephenie Meyer, John Green, and Rainbow Rowell. Although these authors aren’t notoriously known for their happy endings, they are the epitomes of a good love story (besides Nicholas Sparks, but honestly I’ve never been a fan and wasn’t allowed to read those for quite some time) so the exposure was still there and thus, prompting me to start writing of my own.

From the ages of 13-16 I spent hours in front of my computer. Both reading love stories people had written online for inspiration and writing my own. I was transfixed, I was awestruck, and most disappointingly, I was lead astray.

By the time I was old enough to date, I didn’t know that people kissed people, slept with people, or dated people just for fun. All my life I had been taught in fiction, cinema, and other works that people kissed people they liked, cared about, and wanted to be with. So imagine my disappointment, at 16 years old, when I went down into the basement with a boy named Alex who had been texting me nonstop weeks prior, and who had then put is wet, slobbery lips on mine. I went home and told my best friend about it, “I can’t believe I’m going to have my first boyfriend,” and when he texted me later that night saying the kissing meant nothing and that he just wanted to “have fun,” I felt the ground crumble beneath me. That was a revelation.

I eventually played along. A few months into my senior year of high school I learned how to navigate the murky waters of adolescence and teenage hormones and I was proud of myself for eventually learning how to kiss, fuck, and even lay with no feelings attached whatsoever. Once I had endured a few more Alex’s during my junior year, I had finally learned how to play it, and eventually, I was winning every time.

Fast forward to now and I have had two boyfriends since college. Both of which just proved to me that even (semi) successful relationships are never the way they appear to be in movies, in books, or even in your own mind. The feelings I’ve felt watching people happily fall in love in movies had never once struck a cord in me with either of them, or anybody for that matter. And now, at 24 years old, as a single young lady in a thriving, hip city, I fear I must prepare myself to be underwhelmed for the rest of my dating career.

xox, Kait